Fi

NOTE: Sex cometh slowly in this romance novel.

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CHAPTER 1

The three Burke sisters were in the big house on the hill drinking wine, with their shoes off and feet up. Their parents were away at a conference on global coal reserves in India.

"Fiona why can't you settle on a guy," asked Stacy, the elder of her two married sisters.

"It's partly because of her stupid name Stace," grinned Amanda. "She has great hair, a great body but what guy in his right mind wants to marry a babe called Fiona?"

Fiona said defensively, "I can't help my name and anyway guys are so stupid."

The older siblings looked lovingly at the attractive brunette 20-year-old and Stacy said softly, "Give it time Fifi, it will happen."

"We should get drunk, invite some guys around and have an orgy," Amanda suggested.

"Oh yes, come on. Oh yes," Fiona yelled, eyes shining and finishing her glass of sparkling wine in a gulp.

Her sisters laughed.

Stacy said, "Fifi we can't. Mandy is just floating a wish. We are both respectable married women, each with a child. Would you like the moms of your niece and nephew branded as whores?"

"Ohmigod, I never thought of that. Wouldn't the guys keep their mouths shut?"

"No," said her sisters in unison.

"Damn."

They giggled and continued on to get half drunk. They went to a restaurant and three times were warned they would be asked to leave if they didn't calm down.

The next day, nursing hangovers, the sisters talked about men. Stacy and Amanda were very candid about describing what it was like living with a guy and that rather depressed Fiona. But at the airport late afternoon after Amanda had left and Stacy had been called for her flight she'd hugged the little darling she'd helped raise and who was now the tallest person in the family, taller than even their brother Anthony, and said, "Largely ignore what we said darling. Not all men are bastards or even difficult and out there somewhere is a man waiting for you. Perhaps you should change a few things. Remember what mom says, "Even small things can make a difference."

They kissed and Stacy hurried off, waving.

* * *

Professor Alice Burke peered at the young woman approaching them. "Fiona?"

"Hi mom, welcome home, but if you don't mind it's Fi now."

Her parents gaped at their six foot two daughter, now a blonde, and appearing to be all leg and breasts and going under the stupid name of Fi. Alice wondered would any mother stupidly name her daughter Fi. She kissed her Fiona though and her head reeled under the strength of her daughter's perfume.

Roy said, "Have you become a Go-Go dancer?" But instead of berating him for being stupid, his usually fiery daughter smiled hugely and said, "Oh daddy you are so funny."

Oh god, thought Alice. Fiona's on drugs and has been caught up in an odd-ball sect in just ten days of being left alone.

"Oh darling, what have they done to you?"

Looking puzzled the young woman now calling herself Fi said, "Mom a hair stylist and a new wardrobe can't have changed me all that much. You know I'm still your daughter."

"Do I? What is the name of the sect?"

"Dad mom is exhausted after extensive travel. Let's get her home."

"Yes Fi. Great name and great legs and tits."

"Roy!"

"Yes Alice? Why don't you try to relax while in a warm bath and I'll make you a hot chocolate. If you can't cope I ask Doc Talbot to give you a sedative."

Next evening when Fi returned home from her job she'd just quit she was asked to sit down by her serious-faced parents and told it was a family conference.

Her normally liberal but complex mother said, "Roy."

"Um your mother and I want you to revert back from this ridiculous name to Fiona."

Fi had made the change after grave consideration, having first rejected the proper name of Fee in favor of Fi, a name nobody appeared to have, as far as she could find on the Internet. "No, absolutely not."

The coal mining company chairman and professional company director sighed. "Your mother wants you to stop wearing what she calls dangerously alluring clothes."

"No, definitely not."

"Your mother wants to know about your sect."

"She knows I'm female and if you must know I haven't had sex for almost six weeks."

Roy struggled to contain his mirth. "The word I used was sect -- s-e-c-t."

"What sect?"

Alice challenged, "The outfit that has captured your mind."

"Dad, there is no sect. Mom is hallucinating. Take her to Doc Talbot."

"Roy I want you to give Fiona twenty thousand to go away to find herself and not to return until she does."

"Okay."

"No daddy. Although I do want to go away to find myself, it's expensive out there. I'll go if you give me a hundred thousand."

"Jesus girl, now who's hallucinating. Fifty grand and that's my top offer."

"Okay, done deal dad. I'll give you my bank account number and will fly out of your lives tomorrow evening."

"Thank god for that," Alice sighed. "If you had stayed looking like that I would have lost all my friends."

"Dad, believe me. Mom is in need of serious help."

At the airport next evening even Roy appeared almost ready to join in the crying.

"No mom, it's no use; I'm going. It's just the mother in you pleading with me to stay. It's the kind of thing one expects from a woman."

"There you are Roy, she'd been indoctrinated by the sect."

"It appeared to be perfectly logical thinking to me Alice. Are you sure you don't become entangled with a sect while I was attending conference sessions?"

It was time for Fi to enter security and her mom clung to her desperately. Roy had to free his daughter. "Bye darling. If your mother doesn't improve within a few days from making these wild allegations I will have her referred for psycho evaluation."

"Thanks dad. Bye mom. I will email you most days but remember if you call me that Australia is in a different time zone to here. Now be a good girl and look after yourself, find inner peace and be kind to daddy. If you weren't past the age bracket I'd recommend you have another baby. You are the perfect mother."

Alice sobbed, Roy was shuffling and with a big sigh Fi left to find the real Fi.

Fi was hoping it would be an incredible journey of discovery. She had applied to an employment agency in Sydney for a position she'd noticed during a web search of housekeeper for a female book publisher. The client had interviewed Fi by phone and said she was the pick from the short-list of applicants provided by the agency. The woman said Fi had the most interesting name of the other nine applicants, was the only blonde, the youngest and had no book writing experience and appeared unsure what housework involved.

"You are an open book Fi," said Mrs Mace. "You appear naïve and not attempting to thrust yourself on me to get your book published and not knowing anything about what housework is in Australia makes you ideal because I can teach you to do everything my way. Any questions?"

"Am I to be paid the going rate?"

"Yes."

"Do you promise not to exploit me?"

"Yes."

"Are you trustworthy?"

"Absolutely darling. Jump aboard a plane and come to me."

"Okay, I'm looking for an adventure and to find myself so working for you and living with you in your house and you being a publisher sounds a perfect mix for me."

Mrs Mace said nervously, "You're not gay are you Fi?"

"God no. What about you?"

"God no. Oh what a lovely expression to reject a notion emphatically and yet politely. I don't think you'll find Australians are particularly polite darling. We like our cards on the table. Come soon."

"Huh?" That cards on the table bit had left Fi puzzled. She called her sisters but didn't know either. Her father said it was an Aussie colloquialism for playing it straight and without complications.

* * *

Mrs Mace came to the door coughing and holding a cigarette. Fi recognized the scent of marijuana.

"Oh hello dear, you look gorgeous, even better than you photo supplied to the agency. How did you find me? I forgot to email my address. It's these stupid cigarettes you know."

"Well if you are going to continue smoking them it will not be in my house with me being in charge of its cleanliness and appearance. And really, it's 10:00 in the morning. You should be in proper attire rather than just a dressing gown."

Mrs Mace could only boggle and she managed, "Yes dear. May I smoke this out on the veranda or in the garden?"

"Yes providing the windows facing you are closed and you don't litter."

Mrs Mace, who looked to be in her early forties, scratched under an armpit, sniffed and said that sounded reasonable.

Fi said she'd found the address by looking up the websites of book publishers in Sydney and finding the name Gwendolyn Mace.

"But how would you know that was me?"

"The name sounded suitably apt from the image I created of you when speaking to you on the phone."

Gwendolyn looked at Fi thoughtfully. "I must say this hiring of you certainly sounds eccentric but I wouldn't have thought the name Gwendolyn suggest eccentricity."

The names of the other three Mace females on the lists of senior personnel were Tammy, Shelia and Jane."

"Ohmigod, I see what you mean. Gwendolyn certainly appears to pack a bit of clout."

"Pardon me?"

"Oh yes, the translation. It packs a bit of impact."

"Absolutely."

"Come in and please call me Gwen. Only my mom and aunties call my Gwendolyn."

"Then so much for my theory."

Gwen laughed and said Gwendolyn was still her proper name. "What is your proper name?"

"Fiona."

"Ah, for a modern girl like you I sense rebellion so you put your foot down and mommy said, "Revert to your proper name or get out of my house."

"Actually she asked dad to give me a barrow load of money to go out and find myself."

"God Fi," Gwen said practically panting, "You must sit down and start writing. What you are telling me screams "Book!"

"I'm not a writer although the thought is on the back burner."

"You sound like my son, but in reverse. He'll be a writer when he gets his ass into gear."

"I love that expression."

"Really? Well let me think about that book idea. You are in the guest wing, away from my bedroom so you don't hear me screaming when I have gentlemen call."

Fi giggled and said well not hear too loudly and Gwen gave her the smile that said she was beginning to relax about her decision to take on a kid from America as a housekeeper who'd already banned her from smoking pot inside the house.

Gwen persuaded Fi to drink a glass of milk and eat two bagels spread with cream cheese and then go to sleep to recover from jet lag.

"What's jet lag? I feel great."

"That's because you are exited and energized," said the wiser woman.

Fi awoke three hours later feeling as though she'd been kicked in the stomach and head-butted. She realized she had jet leg rather than a strain of deadly flu waiting to pounce on long-distant travelers packed in cabins and waiting rooms, coughing and nose-blowing in a cacophony of cross-infectious proportions.

Gwen looked at her hired home help, now looking pale with shoulders down, eyes bleary and no longer with the bounce in her step that older people notice in the young. She smiled sympathetically as if knowing no way would this kid, er young woman, admit she was suffering jet lag. From what Fi had said, all up since leaving home she'd been traveling for almost twenty-two hours including waits for connecting flights.

"Come," smiled the employer picking up a dog lead and calling "Pluto".

Gwen handed Fi a bottle of water and said they would take Pluto for a walk. "You may take her any time."

Out of the depths of the house emerged a yawning cat, quite the largest Fi had ever seen.

"Wow, what breed is he?"

"Her. A moggy."

"What bred in Mongolia for deer hunting?"

Gwen smiled and said, "I believe I'll get to really like you. You remind me when I was an energetic youngster with a mind without barriers and ad-libbing unashamedly when I didn't know anything knowing I'd be corrected. Pluto came to me one day as a street stray. Her mom would have been of unknown breed origins crossing with possibly one of the world's largest alley cats. Such is my humor I named her after the dwarf planet Pluto thinking she would wander off after a couple of days but this house has so many dark corners that suit a sleepy cat she decided to stay."

"Ohmigod, it's you who should be the writer. What a wonderful story."

"I've had seventeen books published Fi and the universal accolade I received from critics was a variation of the word 'interesting' so I went into book editing and although I naughtily call myself a publisher for reasons of ego I'm actually employed as a commissioning editor. I work Monday to Thursday from home and go to the office on Fridays that is mainly taken up with assessment meetings and meetings charting progress. So like Pluto hiding behind a male name I too am a fraud."

"Oh that's not true. You are both lovely."

"Ah an outburst of sweet innocence. Oh how lovely."

They set off with Pluto on the lead.

That fired Fi. "I bet that's a lie. Cynical perhaps through bitter experience and lackadaisical because of what you smoke but I believe you carry qualities that you prefer to hide and your mind works differently."

"Lackadaisical is an interesting choice of word for a twenty-year old darling but I challenge you to justify your absurd notion that my mind works differently, presumably you meant but didn't say to other people, or most other people?"

"Okay, try this. Who else on this planet would hire a housekeeper, unmet and without housekeeping references, from the other side of the world and send her money for her air tickets without any idea whether the young women in receipt of that substantial amount of money would show?"

"Darling, you under-estimate me. You are forgetting I spoke to you on the phone and from that made my character assessment."

Fi smiled triumphantly. "There you go, one of your hidden talents."

"Oh touché," Gwen smiled. "Christ I'd like a joint right now."

"No, no way. You are not to smoke in my presence and please get used to the idea that I intend weaning you from that banned substance."

"Are you sure of your facts darling? The laws on cannabis in this country are rather confusing. At the discretion of the police we appear able to smoke it and not land in court providing we are not in possession of it in alarming quantities like enough dope for a two weeks or something like that. We are not allowed to supply it to others but that leaves a huge number of people escaping prosecutions because they first have to be found doing it."

"Well why break the law or just manage to skip by it? Why not be a good woman and apply good social mores?"

"Oh darling, how wonderfully sweet and naïve but actually you sound quite adult. You may have yet to learn being involved in some of the naughty things adds spice to life and please don't lecture me about the heath issues involved with cannabis usage."

"Very well. I know the easiest people to be saved from themselves are those seeking to be saved."

"Oh how wholesome darling. I do hope we can bend a little to really enjoy your stay in Sydney. You said on the phone you have a dual passport?"

"Yes dad and mom were living in Perth when I was born. He was a field geologist but these days is stuck in offices. We are all these people saying hi to Pluto by name but few seem to know you by name?"

"I'm just an eccentric lady who drives her car badly, smokes and doesn't invite people in for coffee or afternoon tea darling. The local newspaper made a celebrity out of Pluto the first time one of its photographers saw me walking her and again after Pluto was seen by a woman saving her toddler from an attack by a dog. There was blood everywhere and she thought her toddler was dying but found the only one of them bleeding with the dog. It was carted away to the Vet's while the woman walked her child and Pluto to the newspaper to give me publicity that I could well do without. Now children call as ask if Pluto can go out to play with them."

"Oh dear the publicity makes you fear you'll have to wear make-up, better clothes and do your hair?"

"Careful darling. I do think you are too young to be called a bitch."

"Can we do something about your skin, you hair and your clothes?"

Gwen appeared half-interested. "Like what?"

"The hair first. Orangutans have better hair care than you do."

"Oh thanks you big tall charmer. I must say I do like your hair."

"Okay, we book you in for the salon to give your hair most lift and to over color that mousy matt with some dark blonde streaks."

"Oh god."

"Is that the name of your hairdresser?"

"Oh god," Gwen groaned.

"Look mummy, there's the cat lady with Pluto," called a kid holding his mother's hand.

Gwen groaned it was not safe being on the streets. She pulled out her phone and said she was calling her son. "It's time I got you out of my hair."

"Scott could you please come around now. I have a surprise for you. You might like to wear your boots with the high heels."

* * *

Ah, time to meet the American kid, Scott thought, forgetting he was only two years older so what did that make him? This Fi -- what on earth kind of name was that -- was pretty according to her low rez email photo. His mum used to look beautiful, he thought. After their guitar-playing father left their mom, Blanche and him for a floozy who made a few bucks singing country music, Gwen turned to trying to write sexy novels to make ends meet for the abandoned family. Blanche now eighteen had been in nappies at the time.

The historical based novels sold quite well but by the time he was a high school senior has mom had written herself out. She'd had let herself go, sleeping late, drinking too much and one of his girlfriends introduced his mum to pot and one of her older male companions revived Gwen's old memories about sex.

What an embarrassment she'd been to Blanche and him at times but the truth was she was clever with her penetrating way of thinking and usually was great fun, being like a Penny Pan, never quite growing up to become a serious adult. She still made great money and was allowed to work from work because she looked too untidy to work at the office, except on Fridays when the publishing firm had its talkfests. By all accounts his mom was a scream with her dry wit. Scott sighed, having long suspected the married publisher Guy Fennell and his mom had sex after work on Fridays. She always bathed on Friday mornings and perfumed up and soon as she arrived home on Friday evenings she was in the bath again. Ask yourself.

Scott grinned. He was always asking himself about that but unless she confessed or someone caught them at it who would ever know? And what the fuck did she mean by that coded message to wear his boots, meaning his cowboy boots, his only footwear with high heels. Had she overflowed the bath again?

Scott had completed a BA in English, majoring in literature/writing five months earlier and his mom had found a cheap flat for him. She paid the rent and had told him to get writing and ah, well, he'd produced three draft manuscripts. She'd read each one and in each case gave him her verdict in one word.

Crap.

He thought he should get a real job but she made him stick to his promise that he'd try for one year. Each time he gave her a draft to read she looked pained and would say he didn't lack imagination as a person but it deserted him as a writer and she gave him heaps of tips than he found difficulty adhering to when attempting to write.

Gwen had never once called him hopeless. She just said, "It will come. You can't possibly have a mum like me and be bereft of talent. Get out and fuck some hot women and see where that leads you. Don't forget condoms."